First Psychotic Break...

“Mom, I’m scared!”

Those words still haunt me today. Etched into my memory forever, I will never forget the day my son had his first psychotic break.

It was a Saturday morning, and I was at the mall shopping. Like most weekends, this was the only time I had to run errands and decompress from a busy week. Coffee in one hand, shopping bag in the other, I was walking into a store when my phone rang. Thinking it was nothing urgent, I casually answered the call from my son.

But it wasn’t a casual call.

He said, “Mom... I’m scared.”

Immediately, panic set in. The fear in his voice made me think someone had broken into the house. I asked him what was happening, and he said, “I’ve locked myself in my room. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m hearing voices.”

My heart sank.

I turned around and raced back toward the car, thoughts swirling: “Lord, let me get to him before anything else happens.”“Who can I call?” “What do I do?” Trying to focus, I zeroed in on my son and told him, “You are safe.”

I had never experienced anything like this before, but I instinctively knew that keeping him calm was the most important thing I could do in that moment. I tossed my coffee in the trash, ran down the mall escalator, and rushed to the car. My heart was pounding. I needed to get to him. I needed to fix whatever had just broken.

During the drive, I stayed on the phone with him, coaching him through slow, deep breathing—something I’d learned in my own therapy sessions. As we inhaled and exhaled together, I could hear the confusion in his voice.

Then, a pause.

He said, “Mom... I feel like God and the devil are talking to me. Like I have two voices in my head. I’m really scared.”

I didn’t know what to say. I heard the words, but I couldn’t fully grasp what they meant. I just kept saying, “You are safe. I love you.” I was trying to stay strong for him, but inside, I was terrified. I knew this wasn’t a spiritual moment—this was something else entirely. Something serious.

My son grew up in the church. He knows God. But this... this was different.

Speeding down the highway, going nearly 100 mph, I continued to guide him through breathing exercises while trying not to break down myself. As I pulled into the driveway, I whispered a prayer: “Dear God, grant me the ability to do and say the right things.”

I knocked softly on his door, careful with my tone, trying not to alarm him.

“It’s Mom,” I said gently. “Can you open the door?”

He did.

Inside, he was curled up in the corner of his room, wrapped in a blanket. I’ll never forget the way his eyes looked—dark, wide, glossy.

Changes in Eyes Due to Psychosis: https://www.verywellhealth.com/bipolar-eyes-8426194

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10619177/

But more than anything, they looked scared. Sad. Confused.

I held his hand and told him it was going to be okay. I asked if he wanted something to eat or drink, just to shift the energy and give him something else to focus on. He said no, but he stood up and began walking around. He was still anxious, but I could tell that my being home gave him some relief.

I knew immediately he needed medical care.

Working in healthcare myself, I understood what kind of care he would require. I started searching for a psychiatrist who could see him virtually. But it was 4 p.m. on a Saturday—and unless I took him to the ER, the chances of finding someone same-day were slim.

Resources Available For Menal Health Care:

https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC8671549/

https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nhsr/nhsr191.pdf

https://www.who.int/news/item/02-09-2025-over-a-billion-people-living-with-mental-health-conditions-services-require-urgent-scale-up

I didn’t think he would agree to leave the house, let alone get into a car. So I searched and searched online, hoping to find someone who could help us from home.

Hours later, I finally found a psychiatrist who could see him virtually the next morning. He didn’t have insurance at the time—he had recently lost his job and was too old to be on mine—so I paid out of pocket. The cost was high, and I know many families wouldn’t have been able to afford it.

That thought still hurts.

In America, access to mental healthcare is incredibly limited. And when it comes to urgent care for mental illness, the resources are practically nonexistent. I was fortunate to have the means to get my son seen by a doctor—but I can’t help but think about the thousands of families facing similar crises, completely unprepared and unsupported.

We made it through that night.

And the next morning, my son had his appointment—a visit I’ll never forget.